


Etchings on Bone

by Too_Many_Seeds



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 12:44:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16516715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Many_Seeds/pseuds/Too_Many_Seeds
Summary: Her soulmates were the leaders of a cult and Rook’s rebellion would require her to move against the pull of her soul and the will of the divine.





	Etchings on Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: The usual consent issues with soulmate AUs. Implied future dubcon.

She should have been more careful. 

Ever since joining the force, the importance of covering soulmate marks had been stressed in every lesson; never let it be used against you while on duty. A Rookie through and through, her own marks, perversely plural, were covered in a gauze wrap across her chest- an injury was an effective disguise, she’d been advised by Hudson when she’d arrived for her first shift on duty - and the cultists in the church didn’t seem to even notice it. 

But it appeared that the cult’s leader did not share her trepidation over displaying soulmate marks. Rook almost wished he did. The crown was proudly bared to the audience; marking him king, naming him conqueror and mirror to part of her soul. 

He’d held out his hands to her but his eyes had dropped to the gauze covering her mark. When he’d met her gaze, there was a quirk to his lips; expression knowing and perhaps even amused at her flimsy attempts to hide from her destiny, preordained by the divine. 

“God will not let you take me,” he’d told her and had been right. In the wreckage of the chopper, he had reached out and peeled off the gauze, making soft, soothing noises as she hissed at the tearing adhesive. His lips had parted ever so slightly upon the revelation of her marks, eyes drawn to the middle crown; naming her queen to his king and bound eternally to him in the eyes of God. 

Perhaps it was a hubristic kind of arrogance that made Joseph hold his tongue after she’d fled from the wreckage and started her rebellion against his followers. Posters dotted the county with a gaudy “SINNER” label to her image, yet there was no mention of her significance. And she did not think it particularly _wrong_ for her to consider herself significant; she imagined the cult leader’s soulmate would be a powerful and coveted title amongst the members of Eden’s Gate. 

To her allies, she knew it would be significant in an entirely different way. 

She had encountered Joseph only once more; at her twisted excuse of a baptism -  a Cleansing, they called it - and he had cupped her cheeks in his hands and told her that she had been privy to a wonderful gift. She knew he was referring to their bond, and a traitorous, achingly lonely part of her heart wanted her to accept it. 

Rook had fled and tried not to think about how each step further from him felt wrong. She wondered if she would have to make a choice; become the catalyst he wanted her to be. Perhaps a small, frightened part of her was strangely thankful when that choice was made for her. 

John Seed clicked the switch for his tattoo gun mid-monologue, testing but lazy; movements traced with a tinge of slothfulness that he’d tried to carve out of himself. With a disconcerting amount of focus, he tore her shirt from the collar down and she felt herself tense for more reasons than one. She had been unconcerned with hiding her marks since the chaos had broken out; figuring that the most important person already knew the truth and being unwilling to waste bandages to hide it. 

John was frozen, staring down at the marks with wide eyes. She imagined he was making the connection in his head; remembering his brother’s own mark that he bore proudly. Rook closed her eyes and glanced down, waiting for him to call for Joseph. 

“You?” He asked softly, eyes wandering up to her face, narrowed and judging as the inquisitor in his role. “It’s you?” 

She pursed her lips, almost unwilling to say anything. Behind him, she saw Hudson frowning; her cries fading into silence as she watched the scene play out. 

“Yeah,” Rook replied flatly. “He knows. He saw it that night.” 

John eyes widened and he gave a surprised sort of laugh, glancing to the side of the room with a distant expression. 

“You have to love them, John,” he murmured, and she recognised the words from the night of her baptism. He whirled to face her, thoroughly returned to the moment and he smiled; the charming lawyer present once more. “It appears we have an appointment, my dear.” 

She frowned, unable to help but feel the growing pit of anxiety in her stomach growing, and she determinedly went to glance behind him at Hudson. Her terrified expression was creased into confusion, mirroring her own. John gave her another small smile; a smug, canary-eating cat as he pulled at the front buttons of his shirt, and as each one came undone, the dread inside her grew.

 _No. Not possible. Please don’t be possible_. 

His chest was bared, and the glaring mark of old weighing scales taunted her from his skin. He brushed against his mark, as though greeting an old friend, before he stepped closer towards her and reached out for her own. Beside the crown of Joseph Seed, he traced the outline of her own pair of scales; his soul’s stamp on her. 

“Beautiful,” John murmured, meeting her eyes and grinning. He stepped away, and behind him, she could see that Hudson had cottoned onto what was happening and her expression was mortified, staring widely at her as though she had any hand in this. 

“This doesn’t change anything,” Rook insisted, unsure who she was addressing. 

“Oh but it changes _everything_ ,” John replied, buttoning up his shirt and making his way back over to her colleague. “Finding one’s soulmate calls for celebration, don’t you think?” He gave a snide glance back her way and then smiled benignly at her friend. “Why, I believe I should call the whole family over.”

He wheeled Hudson towards the entrance of the room, deeming her unworthy for the family reunion and then paused. Stepping back into the room, he eyed her still-bared chest and glanced at the final of her three soulmarks.

“You’ve made the connection, I hope?” John asked, smiling knowingly at her. “For the last mark.” 

Of course. It settled on her like an anvil in one of the old cartoons she used to giggle at as a child. Two out of three soulmarks belonging to two out of three brothers. The odds for the owner of her final mark were most certainly _not_ in her favour. 

“Fuck off,” Rook replied, but it lacked her usual bite. 

“Don’t be worried, darling,” John replied amiably, giving her a focused stare from the doorway. “We’ll take care of you, my brothers and I.” A slow smile spread across his lips as he gripped the edge of Hudson’s chair once more. “I’ll be right back.” 

John’s idea of care was what concerned her the most, and she wasn’t sticking around to confirm her worries; making a beeline for the bunker entrance.

Dutch answered her the moment she got within range, stumbling disorientedly through the bushes and sent Adelaide and Tulip to her once they’d managed to discern her location. His island and bunker were her respite for the next few days; her mind torn over where she should be going. Initially, she thought the Henbane River would be a good place to start, considering she heard the brothers’ reach wasn’t as prevalent there, but she knew that Faith would be all too happy to deliver her to Joseph on a silver platter, if only to buy herself more time in his favour. So that was out. 

John was also out because she knew that she would just be asking for a repeat of being dragged down into his bunker, and this time, she doubted he was going to be quite so careless as to let her leave easily. And a dark, incredibly selfish part of her wanted to avoid his bunker so as to have an excuse to not see Hudson; to not have to confront her, or even - and it shamed her to think it - _rescue_ her so as to keep her knowledge secret. It was wrong, and Rook knew she was just putting off the inevitable, but it was still a motivating factor for her avoidance of anything that would screw with John Seed.

So Jacob it was. The enemy she knew... somewhat. Out of all of the brothers, she couldn’t help but feel like her soulmark would matter the _least_ to Jacob Seed. A man who spouted ideologies of sacrifice and casting aside the self in favour of purpose was not likely to change his plans over a simple soulmate revelation. 

Dutch had patched up her wounds - tender gifts from her escape - and over a meagre dinner of canned beans had asked her if everything was okay. As if there was a possibility of anything being okay in the chaos of Hope County these days, especially now that she knew her soulmates were the leaders of a fucking violent doomsday cult. 

“I’m fine,” was all she’d said, and the beans were eaten in silence. 

Dutch’s niece Jess was a firecracker but as good a conversationalist as her uncle. Rook liked that; Jess let her keep her mouth shut, and once Hurk joined their little team, he did enough talking for the both of them - though he didn’t seem to mind that they rarely responded; he just liked to express his thoughts. 

Best of all, there was neither hide nor hair of any Seed brother for almost two weeks. Rook had camped out in a well secluded cabin with her friends, and they’d been trekking to the main road daily to pick off any oncoming vehicles and rescue anyone in need. Their little cabin had been in quite manageable condition, considering the many others she’d come across in the mountains, and was not easily visible by the air; the thick forested area providing coverage and isolating them well enough from any hunters. Only once had they needed to snuff out their lights in the evening for fear of attracting the attention of a plane overhead; all in all, it was a small moment of respite in the warzone that was the domain of Jacob Seed.

One night, they’d feasted on marshmallows they’d discovered stashed away in the back of a cupboard, and Rook groaned at the taste of manufactured sweetness; an old, addictive friend that she’d missed. 

“Y’know, Jacob’s all about going back to the dinosaurs, right?” Hurk had spoken up around a mouthful. “So like...just think how much it’d piss him off if we gave all of his soldiers marshmallows. Wouldn’t that be the coolest?”

“It’d be something alright, Hurk,” Jess replied, meeting Rook’s eyes with brows raised in exasperation before she’d muttered, in a much lower tone, “I’d rather give them an arrow instead, though. Them _and_ Jacob fucking Seed.”

Rook should have laughed, but the thought gave her no pleasure. Rook couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps, if she was someone else, it would have. 

Her skirmishes soon got the attention of the men she’d wanted to avoid. 

“We’re being watched, Dep,” Jess had announced after they’d intercepted a transport of prisoners along the main road. This far out, silent watchers meant only one thing.

“Take them south,” she murmured to Jess and Hurk, referring to the prisoners who were standing in the middle of the road, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. “Go off-path; they might have set up a roadblock to trap you. Cross into the Valley, and find Merle. He can get help.” 

_I hope_ , she thought as she dismissed Hurk’s protests over leaving her to deal with the hunters. It wasn’t entirely self-sacrificing of her; she desperately didn’t want to see her friends fall into Jacob’s hands. She had heard horrible rumours during her time north of what he did to his prisoners, of what trials he put them through. Hurk...she suspected he would not survive it; being too trigger-handy and unpredictable. Jess, however, she suspected would be his perfect idea of a soldier, her ideals so matching his own, if only he could _encourage_ her to switch sides. 

That wasn’t going to happen. 

She fired intermittent shots into the woods from behind the prisoner van; unable to see anything but hoping that she could at least stall hunters while her friends fled to the south. It took about fifteen minutes before one got the drop on her, and her rifle clattered to the ground. 

She woke to the sound of nearby static buzzing. 

Eyes bleary, she made out the blurry figure of Pratt in front of her, binding one of her hands to the nearby bedpost. He saw she was awake and winced, immediately avoiding her gaze as he finished securing her.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and then furtively glanced over his shoulder. She followed the movement and saw Jacob Seed standing by a nearby desk; the top covered in maps and sheets of paper that she couldn’t see from where she was sitting. 

“...suggest that I was mistaken, brother?” She caught the trail end of the familiar voice of John Seed coming from the hand-held radio on the desk. “That _Joseph_ was mistaken?” 

Jacob gave a small sigh, possibly frustrated and brought the device closer to him. 

“I need to see it for myself,” was all he said, and before his brother could get in another word, he switched the radio off. 

Staci finished his work - leaving one of her hands unbound but weak at her side - and stepped away, scurrying back to the corner of the room. Jacob glanced up, watching the other man retreat before he turned his eyes to her. 

She wanted to say something; a witty remark or snide quip to throw in his face to prove her fearlessness, but the words wouldn’t come. She wasn’t fearless at all, it seemed, as this man stared at her from his desk in the room of faded yellowed walls. 

A mark on her chest prickled at the sight of him.

“You know, Deputy,” he began, voice remarkably soft for the rough image he painted, “I wanted to make use of you. I still do, matter of fact.” The sound of boots thudding on old, creaking wood could be heard as he stepped towards her. “But Joseph...he has it in his head that you’re... _special_.” 

He towered over her - well, more than he would have normally - and his eyes were lowered to her chest. A part of her wanted to lean upwards, offering her mark to him as supplication, for him to answer her soul’s call at his will. 

“Oh.” Was all she said, muted and low. 

He hummed softly, an acknowledgement perhaps, and she saw his fingers twitch beside her. Did he want to reach out and tear her shirt as John had? Peel away the layers like Joseph? 

But he did nothing. 

“Joseph thinks you’re our chance at a family,” Jacob told her, an unreadable expression in his face. “Something to finally glue us back together.” He leaned down suddenly, kneeling beside her and eyes narrowing. “But I’m the one who remembers we never had a family that was ‘together’. I’m the one who knows the Seed house was _always_ broken.” 

She’d heard talk about such; that the brothers’ childhoods had not been happy, and while she absolutely sympathised with that, she wasn’t sure why Jacob was telling her this. Let alone what he expected her to do with it. 

Swallowing audibly, the sound obnoxious in the otherwise still room, all she could do was stare up at him. 

“But if a family is what John and Joseph want, then that’s what they’ll get,” he finished, the tone of his voice leaving no room for her to disagree. There was no choice in his words, that was obvious. 

Satisfied that he’d made his point, he turned to leave; stepping towards the door. There was a strange ache in her chest; a prickling of the skin of her mark, and her hand flew up to the collar of her shirt, a strange force compelling her to speak.

“And what about what you want?” She asked, the words soft. Perhaps there was a part of her that wanted to take them back immediately. 

He paused, and for a moment, she didn’t think he would turn around. But finally, he glanced back at her from over his shoulder, and on impulse, she pulled her collar down. 

She didn’t need him to show her his own mark; his eyes softened for the barest of seconds as he took in the sight of her. It was all she needed to convince her that a matching sword was etched onto his flesh in a mirror image of her own.

Jacob looked up at her, composing himself in an instant; ever the solider.

“Who said I wanted any different?” He replied simply and with a gesture to Pratt to follow, left her alone in the room, bound to the bed and tossed to her thoughts of what her three confirmed soulmates had in store for her. 

A dinner party did not top that list, yet come evening, she found herself escorted to what appeared to be what was once a dining room. It did not appear to get much use nowadays, as Rook imagined that Jacob Seed had little need for such, but something made her suspect that Joseph had insisted on some manner of civility. 

They had the good graces to supply her with a change of clothes; the long sundress making her painfully aware of her stature and vulnerability, now that the bullet vest and holsters had been stripped away. They did not supply her with shoes, however and her own had vanished along with her old clothes. She did not like the implication of that. 

Pratt had led her down the staircase, where she was met with the sight of John Seed. He glanced up upon hearing her, and greeted her with a charming smile as he finished setting out the last of silver cutlery on the tablecloth. 

“Deputy, you look a sight for tired eyes, my dear,” he said, before grasping the back of the nearest chair and pulling it out. “Take a seat.” 

She glanced to the side, but Pratt had already retreated to the next room, leaving her alone with John. Rook hesitated for a moment, before taking the few steps forward and sitting down in the offered chair. 

He graciously helped push her in towards the table, before his hands came to rest on her shoulders. She stiffened, his touch feeling like bricks on her skin. 

“I do hope you’ll stick around this time,” John murmured, and his fingers curved slightly, brushing against her chest where his mark was hidden by her dress. “We’d hate to lose you again.” He stepped away abruptly, moving to a seat opposite her, and settling himself down. He didn’t take his eyes off her, and his smile was firmly in place; the charismatic lawyer in essence once more. 

“What’s going to happen next?” Rook asked, clearing her throat. She took a breath and glanced firmly, _defiantly_ at her soulmate and shrugged. “What’s the plan? You know I’ll be running the first chance I get, so you’d better have a good one.” 

He shook his head slightly, as though amused by her wilful antics, but before he could speak, a new voice interrupted him.

“You’ll become ours.” She whirled around to see Joseph Seed entering the room with Jacob at his side. The Father gave her a warm smile as he came to join his brother opposite her, while Jacob took the seat beside her. 

The eldest brother set a pot down in the middle of the table, and began to dish it out in the four bowls available to him. Rook blinked, feeling like she almost needed to pinch herself to prove that the surreal image of Jacob Seed plating up was actually happening. The bowl of stew that was placed brusquely in front of her made it feel real enough. 

The smell was delicious, and it made a pit inside her stomach all the more pronounced. The last pitiful meal of meat jerky in the cabin felt years ago, and she could barely contain her desire to dig in. When the last bowl was set down, John held out his hand expectantly towards her; the other brothers joining hands and waiting on her. 

Of course, she should have known they’d insist on saying grace. She pursed her lips but decided to not cause a fuss; placing her hand in his and the other in Jacob’s to her side. They were warm; Jacob’s skin scarred but heated from handling the stew and John’s softer from less labour. 

She didn’t like the soft glow she felt inside her at being so close and in such an intimate setting with the men she knew she was destined for. Yet there was something that felt utterly _right_ about the scene, and the wildcat inside her protested deeply at it. 

“We thank you, Lord, for the meal you have placed before us,” Joseph began, voice soft and almost melodic. Beside him, John’s eyes were open and staring across at her intently, _fervently_. “We’re blessed to receive something so gracious. We thank you for the time we have been able to spend together,” he paused for a moment, meeting her gaze. “And we pray to receive more meals like this one in future.” He finished with an amen and the brothers echoed it - John squeezing her hand in warning to make her hurry to join them in their chorus. 

She was released, and Rook snatched her hands back towards her. Nobody made a comment on her eagerness to avoid them, and instead they reached for their spoons to dig in. She noticed with a hint of frustration that there was no knife anywhere on the table. 

“So this is what you’re going to do?” She asked, stirring her stew and poking the bear. “Try and play house like this?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “How does this work, exactly? Are there going to be turns? A cute little schedule?” 

Jacob wasn’t looking at her, instead staring at Joseph intently, as though saying “I told you so.” John’s eyes had narrowed, but he wasn’t saying anything. 

“Nothing?” She asked, glancing at each of them in turn. “No answers? What, is one of you going to just steal me away for the week? Fuck me and toss me onto the next one?” 

“That’s _enough_ ,” John hissed, eyes flashing in wrath at her vulgarity. 

“Oh? Explain it to me then, Johnny,” Rook said, grinning and relishing in a new sense of control. “You can’t actually think this is going to work. Don’t you have three different bunkers?” She hissed in mockingly through her teeth, a vicious and grating sound. “Oh, how is _that_ going to work? Who gets to claim me during your big Collapse?” 

A hand clapped down on her shoulder, and she immediately shut her mouth. Jacob was finally looking at her, and there was something horrible and disapproving in his gaze. Against her better nature, it made a part of her soul - likely _his_ part - want to kick aside her anger and please him instead. 

“Eat your stew,” he said, before going back to his own meal. 

There was a moment of silence, in which she deliberated whether she ought to do as he said or not. Finally, common sense won out, making her shovel in a mouthful and try not to groan at the delicious taste of well-seasoned meat. Across from her, she saw John slowly move to begin to eat. 

For a few minutes, there was only the tense clinking of cutlery on silver and muffled chewing. 

Finally, Joseph chose to speak. 

“I told you; you’ll become ours,” he said, answering her earlier provocative question. “Whatever else happens doesn’t matter.” His hand reached up to press against where she knew he bore his own crown mark underneath his shirt, and smiled in an infuriating calmness. “We will be complete. Utterly so.” 

There was a beat of silence, in which she wanted to lash out at them. They couldn’t expect her to take this sitting down, they simply couldn’t. 

“I’ll run,” Rook said bluntly. 

John set down his spoon and composed himself; unwilling to let his wrath get the better of him once more. When he glanced up at her again, he was all smiles and suaveness. 

“We have discussed it and have agreed that it would be best for you to stay with Jacob...for now,” he explained, nodding towards his eldest brother. There was a slight hesitance to his words that made her think that he was not entirely pleased with the arrangement, but she doubted he would have had the final say. “Joseph and I have very public roles, and will not be able to give you all of the attention you may need during this adjustment. He has the means to keep you safe as well.” 

_And in line_ , she thought, casting a sideways look at the soldier beside her, and was nearly startled to see that he was already staring at her. 

“Yeah,” Jacob muttered, eyes narrowed, “we’ll make sure you figure out your purpose real quick.” 

“ _Jacob_ ,” Joseph began, a hint of reprimand in his voice, but he broke off with a sigh, and tried to give her a soothing smile. “We just wish to keep you safe and fulfilled...as God intended.” 

She stared down at the table, scowling as the marks on her chest prickled uncomfortably; the three divides of her soul calling out their pairs, so near together in the room as they were. 

“Isn’t that hubris?” Rook asked, not meeting his eyes for fear of wanting to fall into him. “Presuming to know the will of God?” 

She saw the flicker of movement from all three of them, and she didn’t need to be watching closely to know that they were pressing against their individual soulmarks. 

“There isn’t any presumption about it,” Joseph replied calmly, and she imagined that she could _feel_ the sensation of them touching their marks; the link between them ingrained into her very nerves. She nearly started when she glanced down and realised that she was now also touching her marks; thumb to end finger spread out across her chest to encompass all three. 

“That’s right, my dear,” John murmured opposite her, voice final and so very concerningly assured. “God’s will is etched into our very skin. And who would we be to deny it?” 

Rook couldn’t help but wonder if he was right; whether it was truly _she_ who was the hubristic one, denying what the divine had ordained by resisting. And perhaps everything had been leading her not to victory, but to this; where she would sit breaking bread with her gravest of enemies and claimants of her soul. 

If it was utterly divine, was it truly that wrong? 

**Author's Note:**

> claim me too pls seed bois 
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
